


A Vow Broken, A New Vow Made.

by welovethebeekeeper (orphan_account)



Series: When the Vow Breaks. [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, His Last Vow Spoilers, M/M, Men going at it, Porn, Post HLV, Season 3 fix., lies that lead to parentlock discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/welovethebeekeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My attempt to fix Season 3. Starting at the point when Sherlock collapses in 221B after the tense confrontation between the Watsons. Missing scenes, back story and hopefully better explanations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

221B Baker Street 

 

The paramedics lowered Sherlock onto the gurney; one attaching an oxygen mask, blood pressure cuff, and finger oxygen saturation clip, while the other loosened clothing in order to run an ECG and discover what damage was occurring to Sherlock’s heart. Sherlock’s breathing was erratic, his eyes never left John’s face.

John stood above him, allowing the paramedics to do their work, he gave Sherlock eye contact, becoming aware of his own elevated respirations. John felt terrified, not for the first time in the past twenty four hours. He looked over at Mar...a woman he did not know. The petite blonde, in the grey coat, looked back at him, remaining silent; waiting for her fate.

“Go home.” John managed to speak. “Just go home. I’ll be in touch.” John’s eyes went back to find Sherlock’s, they exchanged a silent message; _Not now, we’ll decide about her future at a later date._

After what seemed like hours but was in fact a mere fifteen minutes, the emergency workers both looked up at John. “OK, we’re transporting him, he’s stable enough. O2 sat is low, we need to get him to the A and E, which hospital do you want us to take him to?”

“St Mary of the Fields. It’s where he was before.” John turned and found his coat. “I’m riding with you, I’m his doctor.”

“Let’s go.” The second emergency tech instructed. Mary looked at John as the gurney was hoisted and rolled out of the living room. 

As they arrived at the top of the stairs, John ascertained Sherlock was still focusing on him, he gave a nod. “I’m not leaving you, you’ll be fine.” John did not look at Mary, gave no acknowledgement of her presence. She remained silently in place as the room cleared.

The woman known as Mary Watson watched from the window as Sherlock was transferred into the ambulance. She saw John climb in after him and then the vehicle pull away from the curb, blue lights dancing their reflection across Baker Street. Mary turned and silently left the flat.

 

*******

 

St Mary in the Fields Hospital. 20 hours later.

 

Sherlock fought his way to consciousness, his head heavy and murky with anesthesia, his eye lids a dead weight; refusing to open. He knew he was back in his hospital bed; sheets starched and uncomfortable, low thread count, they felt rough against his skin. His brain registered the other accouterments of his treatment; sub-dermal canulas delivered hydration and medication, blood pressure cuff inflating and deflating at intervals on his bicep, moisture gathered around his mouth and nose from the oxygen mask and the humidity that was added to aid his breathing. The smell of disinfectant, the sound of a heart monitor, a faint distant voice on an overhead system. He could also hear deep breathing, nasal inhale and mouth exhale; John.

Sherlock forced his eyes to open. John was asleep in a chair close to the bed. His head had fallen backwards at an awkward angle, exposing his throat. He would have an ache in that neck, he’d be grumpy. Sherlock pulled off his own oxygen mask.

“John.” Sherlock’s throat was sore. He immediately deduced that he had been recently intubated, which meant they had done another surgery. John would be angry at that. “John.”

John woke and brought his head up, his hands rubbing the stiffness he immediately experienced in his neck muscles. John looked at Sherlock. His eyes full of relief with a hint of worry. John cleared his throat and sat upright in the chair, with a slight incline towards Sherlock.

“Your liver laceration needed resuturing, the inferior vena cava required a patch and a tether, you required two pints of blood and you’ve set your recovery back by a good month.” John sighed and moved into agitation mode. “All because you couldn’t stay in the bloody bed and get better. You had to abscond from the hospital, run all over London setting up a scenario in which I would discover what a damn fool I’ve been **yet again** as I had apparently married a woman that attempted to kill you!” His voice was raised. “A woman that turns out to be a hired assassin.”

“John, I..” Sherlock began.

“No. Just stop. Stop. Let me have time to absorb all this Sherlock. You rush me, you rush me and then it is all too much. So just stop.” John stood and walked across to stand next to Sherlock. “I lost you once to Moriarty, two years it took to deal with that, then it seems my bride, my wife of a few months, shot you. You died, flatlined. She lied to my face, offered me comfort when she was the one that tried to take you from me.  Finally you do this...expose her to me, and nearly die again of internal bleeding. You MUST stop this Sherlock. It’s not fair, it’s not ...it’s not bloody right. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t endure this. Please, please no more. No more dying on me.” John was clearly distressed and struggling with his emotions, his eyes wet and red rimmed, he reached out and touched his index finger to Sherlock’s hand. 

Sherlock looked down at where their skin touched. “Agreed. Well...I can only speak for self inflicted or self initiated causations of death. Accidents and assassinations are outside of my control.” He looked back at John, curling up the corner’s of his mouth to begin a slight smile. John sighed and shook his head. 

“Idiot.” John broke into a small smile. “You could have just told me what she had done.”

“You had to hear it from her. I had to arrange for the right factors to be present in order for her to have zero choice in the matter, she had to disclose her actions to you.” Sherlock allowed his middle finger to raise up and captured John’s index finger in a minute caress. They both looked at their intwined fingers.

“You didn’t know!” John realized. “All of your powers of deduction and you missed this huge backstory on my future wife.”

“Other things on my mind.” Sherlock frowned.

“Since when? What other things?”

“You.” Sherlock locked eyes with John. “Had to make amends, heal our friendship, get you back on side, you know I am lost without my blogger.” John put his entire hand into Sherlock’s, and they entwined their fingers. “Sentiment John, I am not immune, contrary to your long held opinion. I too can be waylaid by emotion. I saw but I did not observe. It was nearly a fatal error.”

“Don’t let it happen again.” John spoke in a whisper. 

“Are we fine now? You and I?” Sherlock looked at John, brow furrowed.

John gave Sherlock’s hand a squeeze. “Yes. Yes. Of course we are. The two of us against the rest of the world. Just as you said.”

“Thank you.” The detective spoke the words with reverence.”I promise to be less...reckless with my life.”

“You’ll never keep that promise.” John sighed. “Just get well, OK. Get well and the rest we will sort out.” John pulled away and crossed the room to an arm chair close to the window. “I need sleep, so do you. I’ll be right here.” He sat down and pulled a blanket across his legs. Sherlock let out a deep breath, one he felt he had been holding since his return from the Serbian mission. He smiled and put his oxygen mask back on, settling into the uncomfortable sheets. 

“I presume you have your gun?” Sherlock asked, his words muffled by the mask.

“Yep.” John replied from behind closed eyes. “Too many assassins around to take a chance.”

 

********

 

St Mary in the Fields. Day 2

 

Dawn was steel grey over London. Mycroft entered the hospital room and stood by the door. He nodded at John who was reading the early edition of The Telegraph in his armchair by the window, John responded with a 'Mycroft’ and folded his broadsheet. Mycroft looked at his brother in the hospital bed and sighed.

“Really Sherlock, you do complicate things.”

Sherlock gave a pout and looked away to gaze out at the drizzle falling on the capital.

“How much do you know?” John asked. 

“About the woman we all know as Mary Watson?” Mycroft hung his umbrella on the corner of a drawer and crossed the room to sit in the one remaining chair. “Unfortunately very little. My best people have been working on it for the past week and we are nowhere closer to her identity. I even have a request in with the CIA to release information they hold, but as yet it has not been forthcoming.”

“Here.” John handed Mycroft the memory stick marked AGRA. “She said it was all on there.”

“I would doubt an operative as deep undercover as Mrs Watson would risk having such an obvious file on herself that could easily fall into the wrong hands. I think this contains more falsehood with the sole purpose of placating you if the need arose.” John blanched at Mycroft’s words, visibly attempting to process the depth of deceit from Mary.

“Even now, still lying.” The doctor stood and walked to the door. “I’m going to get coffee.”

“John...” Sherlock sounded concerned.

“It’s alright. I’m not going far, be back in a bit.” John managed a small smile as he left the room.

Sherlock looked at his brother. “She threatened me. After my first surgery, she told me not to tell John that she had shot me. She was clear that if I did, she would shoot me again, and if I told John and he decided to leave her she would kill him. Either he is with her in a loving spousal relationship or he’s a liability.”

“Where on earth did John find her?” Mycroft looked appalled.

“Local assassins bar?” Sherlock scoffed. “Do you think this is coincidence Mycroft? She clearly found _him_. A contract on him maybe or placing herself close to him to discover if I were alive. This is clearly a plan by someone.”

“Yes, coincidence is improbable, you are right.” 

“I need to find a way to keep John safe.”

“We can step up on his protection, the hospital is being closely monitored, as is your flat. By the time you are released we may have information on her that will aide us in our disposal of the lady as a threat.”

“Find it quickly Mycroft. I sense danger. She is a brilliant liar, she hides herself in normalcy and her evil in smiles.” Sherlock took on an air of worry. “She managed to deflect me for several months.”

Mycroft gave a glance of disapproval to his brother. “I think sentiment clouded your vision.You are enamored of your goldfish, brother, to a point where he is a weak spot, it may get you both killed.”

“It did get me killed.” Sherlock shifted in pain, his hand traveling to his pain pump in order to up his dosage. “I fought back to protect John. At whatever the cost.”

Anthea knocked on the open door. “Sir?”

“Arh, my dear there you are.” Mycroft turned in his chair. “Take this and discover what fantasy is depicted.” He handed her the AGRA memory stick. ‘Best people on it, need answers by the end of the day.”

“Yes Sir.” Anthea took the stick and turned, leaving the room as swiftly as she had arrived. 

“Well I best get to work. I will be in touch by this evening. Mummy and Daddy are coming in tomorrow for a few days to see you.” Mycroft stood and retrieved his umbrella. 

“No Mycroft.” Sherlock was furious. “I told you no parents until I am well enough to endure their endless chatter and fussing. I just want John here, I have no need of anyone else at this time.”

“Sorry, can’t be stopped now. They are packed and have train tickets in hand. They are inevitable dear brother.” Mycroft smirked as he left the room.

 

*******

 

St Mary in the Fields 2am Day 3.

 

Having pulled a chair close to Sherlock’s bed in order to play a game of chess with the detective, John had fallen asleep mid move. His head had descended onto the mattress and he had been in a sound sleep for over an hour. With his chess partner no longer in the game, Sherlock had placed the chess set onto his bed table and moved the head of the bed into a semi-prone position in order to facilitate his own sleep. However sleep had been evasive and Sherlock found himself contemplating the top of John’s head in wonder. The grey and silver hair, a little overgrown and abundant, the swirl at the crown, the perfectly intact skull where several snipers had aimed but not one bullet had penetrated. Sherlock found his hand had migrated to this object of reverence and was stroking the rich texture of the hair. 

Sherlock knew he was desperately in love, for the first time in his life, he was experiencing the all too human emotional journey that was both agony and ecstasy.It was difficult to pin point when love had struck; maybe their first cab ride to their first crime scene, or maybe their exuberance and laughter in the hall at 221 when they had returned from their first run around London’s back streets together, or maybe it was the closeness they shared after John had shot Jeff Hope. Sherlock had many contenders for the moment love arrived for him, but he _knew_ he was in love, head over heels in love, when John led Mary into a wedding dance. Maybe one had to lose the game to really understand the depths of the agony and the extent one would go to in order to sacrifice. 

John had woken to the calm and steady touch of long elegant fingers running through his hair. It felt soothing and intimate. He knew the owner of those fingers, had wished for touch from those fingers more times than he could count. He waited for several minutes for Sherlock to still, but there appeared to be no end in sight. John smiled, his face hidden in the bedding, then finally turned his head and without lifting it or disturbing Sherlock’s ministrations, he spoke:

“I could get used to this you know.”

“Sorry.” Sherlock’s hand stilled. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine, it feels nice.” A comfortable silence began, Sherlock resumed his finger work and John relaxed. After a few minutes John spoke once more: “I’m confused Sherlock. I need clarity, I need something solid to cling to. Maybe the truth.”

“About what?” Sherlock asked.

“Something, everything, maybe just us.” John lifted his head finally and looked at Sherlock. It was dark in the room with just the overhead bedside lamp illuminating their faces. “I need an anchor. A port in the storm that we call our life. Since the incident at St Bart’s, I feel like my entire existence has been wrapped up in lies. From you, from Mary. I have no bloody idea what is real.”

“This is real.” Sherlock looked sad. “Us, together. We are real.”

“Are we? You left me, you returned as if you had been on an extended holiday. It was hurtful and confusing.”

“I left because I honestly thought you were in danger, I wanted to protect you, and dismantling Moriarty’s web was the only way to do that. Well, that’s what I thought at the time. I admit I miscalculated.” Sherlock shifted in the bed to a sitting position. “I had no idea how to come back, how to break the news to you, so I acted in a stupid way, childish and thoughtless. I am sorry John.”

“Since then? Have you lied to me?”

“Apart from saying I couldn’t diffuse that bomb, no.” 

“Really? I need the truth Sherlock, no matter what it is, because I need to hold onto it.” John was pleading, Sherlock could hear the need and desperation in his voice.

“I lied about my regard for Mary, I lied about wanting to include her in our life, I lied in indirect ways about how I feel about you marrying her. I lied about the events following her shooting me.” Sherlock whispered, afraid the truth would hurt John.

“I knew you didn’t like her or accept her, tolerance would have done just fine by the way, but why did you lie about after the shooting?’

“I gave Mary a plausible story, one that would keep you two together. She listened as I told it to you and accepted it, never contradicted it. She did shoot to kill, she never called an ambulance.” 

John sat fully upright in his chair and fixed his gaze at Sherlock. ‘And the truth about your feelings regarding me marrying her?”

Sherlock took a few seconds, swallowed nervously, then bit his bottom lip. Finally he spoke: “Devastated. Alone. Jealous. Broken hearted.” Silence followed. Sherlock waited for the rejection.

John finally nodded. “Thank you. That took courage. I needed to hear that. The truth of how you feel.”

Sherlock looked away, closing his eyes, fear of his admission flooding through him. John reached for the hand that had been caressing his hair, took hold and laced their fingers together. 

“Sherlock I know you love me, you told me so at the wedding. I told you I loved you when I asked you to be my best man. But we both know there is more to it, always has been since we met. We ignore it, reject it, pretend it’s not there, but it is the elephant in the room. I did float that boat with you a long time ago, but you shut me down.” Sherlock returned his gaze to John. “We can go with it. If that’s what you want. I’m fine with that. All I need, is the truth between us, from here on out, I need to know that the one person in this world that you do not manipulate, or lie to, is me. I need to hold onto that, it has to be what get’s me through our life together. Can you promise me that?”

“Yes.” Sherlock looked terrified.

“OK. Right then. Good. Then we go on from here. Together.”

“Yes.”

John smiled. “I’m going to make sure that broken heart of yours heals. I promise.”

 

********


	2. Chapter 2

St Mary in the Fields. 2pm Day 6

 

Sherlock was recovering; he was free of the heart monitor, the venous and urethral catheters and the constant blood pressure monitor. He could move about his room, use the bathroom and even go escorted to the cafeteria or coffee shop. His recovery resulted in a dire need to work, and unfortunately; smoke. John agreed to ignore three cigarettes per day accompanied by a promise to go back to the patches once Sherlock was fully healed.  Mycroft and Lestrade visited daily, which translated to ‘smoke breaks’ for Sherlock as they were both smokers. It was on an afternoon smoke break with Mycroft that the genesis of a plan sprung up.

“Mary’s record at the CIA was expunged by order from the top, obvious involvement with potential embarrassing missions for the US government. We won’t get intel on her unless we discover a bargaining chip.” Mycroft was standing in the smoker’s shelter outside the hospital with his brother.  
“I told John about the memory stick being empty. He would like it back, just in case he requires it in the future.” Sherlock took a drag on his cigarette. 

“Called his bluff didn’t she? Classic poker play.”

“We have to know Mycroft. I have to know. Everything about her. I dislike not knowing. I can’t protect John without full knowledge.”

"You forget Sherlock. Apparently someone has done our work for us. They already know the 'dirt' on her. I think we need to get our hands on the blackmailer’s files.” Mycroft’s suggestion made Sherlock raise like a peacock.

“Of course! Whatever is in Magnussen’s’ files Mary was willing to kill him for. I have to get to those vaults Mycroft.”

“The only way he will give you the files on Mary Watson, is if you have something he wants more. And I do believe, dear brother, that you are looking at that very thing.” Mycroft grinned. “He wants me. My access to several projects I am working on, plus the background information on the people in control. We can give him that. Of course not the real information, but close enough that we can convince him to hand over the files on Mary.” 

Sherlock grinned back at his brother, he loved it when they were in collusion on a mission.

“There are times, Mycroft, when I actually like you.” 

 

 

*******

 

St Mary in the Field’s Day 9 5pm

 

John was basically living at the hospital with Sherlock, but he was using 221B as a bolt hole; his clothes were there now, and he went there every day to shower and change. Mary had remained in the Watson’s flat and, as far as John could tell, was going about her daily life as a clinic nurse. They had only been in contact via text, mainly to discuss the logistics of John moving out for a while, until he could come to terms with the revelations about his wife. Mary was uncharacteristically quiet and accepting of John’s need for space to think. She had not asked about Sherlock’s recovery.

“Hello. Where have you been?” John looked up as Sherlock entered the room, dragging his IV pole and pain pump alongside. He was in his hospital gown with the Belstaff thrown over his shoulders.

“Oh, just stayed outside for a while, not smoking though, only had one today.” Defensive tone creeping in. “I felt like sitting in the open air and thinking.” Sherlock shrugged his coat off onto a chair and took a seat on his bed. 

“You look flushed and wind blown.” John spoke fondly. “I bet your freezing.” John sat next to him and took his hand. “Bloody hell Sherlock, your hands are like ice.” John began to rub the icicle hand between his own hands to warm it up. “You are only a few days post surgery. Have mercy on me and don’t go getting hypothermia.”

“Nine days post surgery. Well on the way to recovery, and it’s not that cold outside.” Sherlock loved the fussing currently occurring.

“Get into the bed and warm up. I’ll go and get you a hot chocolate.”

“Call the desk and just order one. That’s why Mycroft has me in this incredibly expensive hospital. They have room service. You are such a philistine John Watson.” Sherlock allowed John to assist him into bed and cover him up tenderly. John checked on the pain pump, a slight raised eyebrow in Sherlock’s direction at the dosage levels for the day. Not as high as the previous day; John was pleased. 

“Budge up.” John decided to sit next to Sherlock on the bed. “Pass me the remote, I want to find something on here that will drive you insane.”

“Not exactly a challenge John. There is little on the television that is of any interest to me.” 

‘Oh I don’t know, look there is a pod of dolphins being filmed by a spy turtle. Great stuff this.” John put the remote down and felt Sherlock settle against his side. John half turned and placed his right arm around Sherlock, which caused the detective to place his head on John’s shoulder. 

“Have you spoken to Mary?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“No. Just texts. But I know I need to have a conversation with her soon. Before you are released from here. She needs to know where she stands with me.” Sherlock could feel John sigh.

“You haven’t said anything about our plans for the future?”

“Not yet. I would imagine she has a good idea. But no, I thought that would be best in person.”

“Of course.” Sherlock nodded. “But I think we may need to think things through before you make a decision.” 

John took an audible intake of breath, shocked. His body tensed up. ‘Why? Why would you say that? Are you reconsidering us being together?”

“No, no.” Sherlock sat upright and angled himself toward John. “No absolutely not. I have never been as certain of anything as I am about you and I being together. I didn’t mean that.”

John looked deep into Sherlock’s eyes, seeking truth and confirmation. He found it. “OK. Just...you frightened me. What did you mean?”

“Mary told me that if she couldn’t have you, then nobody would. She was threatening your life. I doubt she would agree to a divorce and shared custody of the child John. She wants it all. The perfect family. We have to be able to negotiate with her. Have a hold over her, if you are to walk away and still see your child.”

“We hold her past over her then?”

“She has left us no other choice.”

“Shit.” John looked lost. “Has Mycroft discovered anything we can use?”

“Not yet, but he has a lead. Until we have some leverage she has to think you are undecided about her. That you are seriously considering returning to the marriage. She will give you time if she has hope.”

“She will know as soon as she sees us together. She’s good, Sherlock, don’t forget that.”

“Then we have to be even better. She cannot know John.” 

“Just so long as I know.” John leaned in to kiss Sherlock, a much needed first kiss in affirmation. 

Sherlock looked surprised, frightened and delighted in the span of a second. He allowed John’s lips to press against his, warm and soft and slightly wet. Sherlock realized his eyes had closed and that he may be moaning a small moan at the back of his throat. John kissed him gently at first, holding Sherlock’s head in his hands, but once Sherlock melted into the kiss John pushed further. Swiping his tongue over Sherlock’s bottom lip and then sucking. 

Sherlock discovered that being kissed by someone that you are in love with is a very different experience than kissing someone when engaged in the act of manipulation. All of Sherlock’s previous kisses, both given and received, had been without sentiment attached. Tools to be utilized on a journey to a goal. Being kissed by John was in a different universe, and Sherlock felt it akin to hunger, deep seated craving, possession and a high like no other. Sherlock kissed back and John responded in a give and take experience that had Sherlock out of breath and aroused within three minutes. John pulled away but Sherlock followed devouring John’s mouth, his hands gripping John’s arms pulling him back. Suddenly the detective was seeing flashes of blinding white light behind his closed eyelids.  ‘Oh; this was bliss’ he realized.

John finally broke the kiss and started to giggle. “Jesus Sherlock, what the fuck was that?”

“A kiss?” Sherlock looked perplexed. “Too much?”

“Too much?” John was still giggling. “That Sherlock, that was not a kiss. That was so much more than a kiss, that was a declaration, a vow, an exposé, a bloody lifetime of want and need. That was amazing.”

“Good?”

“Bloody brilliant. The best kiss, the kiss I will remember till my dying day.” John calmed down his laughter. “That was how kissing Sherlock Holmes should be. Intense.”

‘Well it was about time John. We have studied the topography of each other’s skulls and the texture of hair for several days now. We needed to move on.” Sherlock smiled a genuine bright smile. “I may be aroused.” Sherlock looked innocently down at his groin.

‘Yeah. I think we both are. That kiss certainly had that effect.”

“Another day?”

“Yes, not sure if our first time should be in a hospital bed. Lacks romance.” John smiled and ruffled Sherlock’s curls. 

“Dolphins and the spy turtle then?” Sherlock settled back down in the bed.

“Sounds about right. Think I may sit in the chair just to bring things down to normal.” John took a seat in the chair. “Did you eat Italian for lunch?”

“How did you know...oh you tasted it on me.” Sherlock realized. ‘Yes, pasta. I had a large portion you will be pleased to hear.”

“Good.” John switched the television back on. He was still buzzing from the kiss.

Sherlock looked at the dolphin pod playing with seaweed on the screen, but his mind was running through the meeting with Magnussen at the restaurant that day. A deal with the devil had been made.

 

*******

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

221B Baker Street Day 12.

 

John had spent the previous day cleaning and preparing the flat. The home had not seen a good clean since prior to John’s wedding and it took a great deal of effort, soapy water, scourer, glass cleaner, vacuum bags and fresh air, to bring the flat back up to John’s living standard. He had been undecided about Sherlock’s bedroom. He had flipped the mattress, changed the sheets, cleaned every surface and then stood contemplating whether he should share the room with Sherlock. Should he unpack his clothes in here? Set up his nightstand on one side of the bed? Go to Boots and buy lube and condoms? Real questions that caused John some perplexity. In the end the deciding factor had been the thought of Janine asleep in that very bed.

John unpacked his clothing, taking up space in the wardrobe and two of the drawers, he set up his nightstand with his phone charger, a book on Captain Scott he was never going to finish, and emptied the Boots bag with the condoms and lube into the drawer, shutting it with a firm snap.

Sherlock was driven home in one of Mycroft’s cars, John beside him. He was still under physician’s orders to refrain from work and heavy lifting, he was on several medications and had to have weekly check ups to monitor his progress. But Sherlock was recovering at an alarming speed. His swiftness of movement, his animated body language and his elegance had returned. He no longer held himself in pain or discomfort. The hospital had also insisted on regular intake of nutrition which had begun to show, much to the delight of John. Plus the romantic relationship with John that was now allowed to manifest itself in words and deeds had brought a glow of happiness that had found a home in Sherlock’s eyes. The detective had a new swagger.

“You cleaned.” Sherlock strode into the flat, removing his scarf and coat. “Smells better.”

“The urine stench in the fireplace took several hours of hard work to eliminate. Need to have a few fires burning in there now.” John was looking pleased with his janitorial efforts. 

“I’ll have some good chemical smells in here by tomorrow. More like home.” Sherlock took his laptop out of his overnight bag and opened it at the desk. “Do I need to get supplies?”

“Actually....no.” John smirked and went to the fridge, opening the door and displaying several containers. “Molly supplied you with several nice organs, a few appendages and one brain. I have a variety of solutions and mediums in for you too.”

Sherlock entered the kitchen in delight. “You really are the best John.” He smiled and placed a chaste kiss on John’s lips, going over to open the fridge and see his treasure trove of body parts. “This will all do nicely.”

“I erm..I took the liberty of assuming I can be with you in your bedroom now?” John sounded hesitant. “If it’s too soon or too fast, it’s fine. I can make up my old bed upstairs. No pressure.”

“You moved into my bedroom?” Sherlock turned from the fridge a look of surprise on his face.

“Err, yeah I did. It’s a no then?” John licked his lips and looked nervous.

“It’s fine, it’s all fine. Yes. Good. You and I in my bedroom. Our bedroom. Our room now.” Sherlock attempted to be taking the news in his stride but was failing. He walked back out into the sitting room. 

“Sherlock, seriously, if your not ready.” John followed him concerned. 

Suddenly Sherlock stopped and turned, now in John’s personal space, his hands came up to hold onto to John’s shoulders, his gaze smoldering. “I have never been more ready for anything in my life John Watson than I am at this moment for you.”

“Jesus Sherlock.” John’s heart missed a beat. “If only you knew how much I love you.”

“I do.” Sherlock kissed him, deep and  full of emotion, John’s centre of gravity failed and he found himself leaning into and onto Sherlock, as his mouth was caressed and possessed. John’s hands went to Sherlock arse and oh, that felt wonderful. He squeezed and fondled the lush cheeks covered in expensive silk. Sherlock apparently liked this a great deal and pushed his pelvis closer into John, the start of a gentle rut.

“Mary!!!” Mrs Hudson yelled as she ran into the flat and broke the clinch. “Mary is coming up the street. Pull yourselves together, John you’re not decent, go in the bathroom.” She pushed him in that direction and he followed her order. “Sherlock sit at the desk.” She whirled Sherlock around and pushed him down into the chair. “Deep breaths. I’ll go and let her in. We all need to keep calm. Nothing happening here.” Mrs H hurried back out.   

“Are you alright?” Sherlock called to John. “She cannot suspect.”

“I will be in a minute, she won’t know a thing.” John responded from behind the closed bathroom door.

Mary was heard greeting Mrs Hudson and then ascending the stairs. “Hello Sherlock.”

There was the same coldness and detachment in her voice and countenance as when the detective had last seen her; the night of his internal bleed. “I heard you were being released today. I thought it was time I spoke to John. Now he isn’t having to worry over you.”

“He’s in the toilet.” Sherlock gave her steady eye contact. “You look well. Baby has grown since we last met.”

“Yeah, seems to pop out a few inches every so often.” Mary took a seat on the sofa. “Flat has been cleaned. John couldn’t stay here with it in the state it was. Must have taken him hours to get it this clean.”

“It did.” John came into the room. “Mary.” The Watsons looked at each other, silently, for several seconds. 

“Sherlock.” Mary spoke, her eyes still locked on John. “be a darling and leave the room, the grown ups have things to discuss.”

“Mary..” John scowled in disapproval. 

“John would you prefer that I leave?” Sherlock asked.

“No. But I get the impression that Mary will only talk if you are not here. So if you would be so kind.” John gave him a nod. “Don’t go too far away.”

Sherlock stood, buttoned his jacket and walked across the room. As he passed John the hand closest to John brushed against John’s arm. “I’ll be catching up with Mrs Hudson.”

 

*******

“Well?” Mary ignored Sherlock’s leaving.

“Well what Mary?” John huffed an exasperated breath.

“Are you coming home?”

“Not yet.” John shook his head. “Sherlock is still under doctor’s care and taking pain killers, he needs someone here.”

“Mrs Hudson is here.” Mary reasoned.

“He is recovering from a gunshot wound, secondary internal bleeding, a laceration to his liver, all of which were caused by you. As your husband I feel responsible to him to get him well. He’s not there yet.”

“You know why I shot him; to protect you, I called the ambulance, I was frantic that Magnussen would expose me and I would lose everything I had built over the past five years. I would lose you. I wasn’t thinking straight. Yes, I was a CIA operative, yes, I’ve killed people, yes, I have another life that is now over and done with, but none of that John changes what we have, how I feel for you.” Mary was appeared desperate, she stood up and crossed to be closer to John. “We can go back to the way we were. Happy in our flat, the baby on the way. A future of kids and holidays and laughter. We are both too old for this other stuff, I know you don’t really want a dangerous life. You like dangerous people but in the end you chose me. Me as Mary Morstan, the wife, the nice life. You want the normal life. I can give you that. This baby can give you that. We love you John, me and the baby, we love you.”

John stared at the woman pleading for his love, a woman he had loved and chosen, several months ago, to spend the rest of his life with. But even then it had not felt right; his dreams of Sherlock, his need to be with Sherlock, his growing frustration with suburbia and domesticity. If Sherlock had never left, never fallen off that rooftop, there would be no Mary in John’s life. John had made his decision, many years ago, that the one for him, the only one for him, was Sherlock Holmes. Mary had been a substitute when John thought Sherlock was dead. It never would have lasted, even without her shooting the wisest and best man John had ever known. Now here she was pleading with him. One moment cold as ice and then with the blink of an eye devastated and emotional. John realized he was standing in front of a psychopath.

“Mary, I need time. I need to work out how I feel and what I want to do. I need the space in which to do that. Give me that time.” He tried to sound broken and hurt. “I haven’t opened your memory stick, I’m not sure I will. But I am asking you, for the sake of our marriage and our baby, give me time.”

Mary’s eyes had filled with tears. “Yes. Take all the time you need but there is a deadline. I need a decision before the baby is born.”

“Of course.” John nodded. He looked at her again, and all he could see was an assassin, an assassin that had tried to kill Sherlock. He forced himself to think of the baby. “Thank you for this.” 

Mary smiled and turned, without hesitation she left. John let out a deep breath and collapsed onto his chair.

 

*******

 

As the front closed behind Mary, John heard Sherlock’s footsteps coming up the stairs. The detective stood in the door way, hesitant, looking at John.

“You listened, how did I do?” John asked in a weary tone.

“I think it was sufficient to convince her. She wants to believe you, that there is a chance you will return to her.”

“How could anyone, anyone that knows me, think I could still love a woman that tried to kill you?” John was incredulous. “That fact alone would be enough to turn me against her, let alone the lies.”

“Mary saw you accept me back into your life after I had lied, faked suicide. It’s not a long stretch John for her to think that you will get over your anger and return to her. You did it for me.”

“You were different.” 

“Mary doesn’t know that. Plus Mary has one thing in her favor.” Sherlock approached John and crouched down in front of him.

“The baby.” John stated. “There is that. But how do I know the baby is mine? She lied about everything else.” Sherlock shrugged at that.

“She has to believe there is a strong chance you will return to her. I think you convinced her such a possibility may occur.” Sherlock offered a slight smile and John responded in kind.

Mrs Hudson entered the flat, tea tray in hand. “That was a close call boys, before. Mary nearly finding you in a compromising position. You really need to close doors.”

“You really need to stop just walking in without knocking.” Sherlock stood up and went to his laptop. “You may not like what you walk in on.”

“Oh please...I’ve been waiting to walk in on something since John moved in here and I never have. Today was the first time I’ve ever seen you two kiss.” Mrs Hudson deposited the tea tray and left in a huff.

“Your right, we may need to lock the doors, everyone we know feels free to just walk in here; Mycroft, Lestrade.” John went over to pour two cups of tea. “Mrs Hudson sends clients up at all times of the day and night without checking with us.”

“Locks it is then.” Sherlock was preoccupied with the information on his laptop. “What with all the around the clock sex we’ll be engaging in all over the flat, it does sound as if we’ll need them.” 

John smirked as he sipped his tea.

 

******


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is over 1800 words of sex. I thought long and hard [pun intended] about adding a sex chapter. I know that in HLV our boys are not there yet and so the idea was to just fix the story we had been given. But then I thought about the stag night, and I honestly believe that if Tessa hadn't shown up that night, the boys might have ended up in Sherlock's bed. So, if circumstances in HLV had led to Sherlock and John living back together for the three months leading up to Christmas maybe, just maybe they would have finally done the deed.  
> If you disagree, just skip this chapter, as it will not affect the rest of the fix of HLV. If you like porn; read on.

221B Midnight Day 12/13

 

“I’m going to bed.” John stated as he turned off the television and cleared up his mug and plate from the coffee table. Sherlock was at the desk, engrossed in several sites on the web, and had been for a solid five hours. “Sherlock.” No response. “Oi. Sherlock. Any interest in joining me?”

“Crispy chili beef.” Sherlock spoke absent-mindedly in reply. 

John smiled fondly. He walked over to the detective, bent and placed a kiss on the top of his head. “Not dinner. We had risotto three hours ago. No, I am suggesting we go to bed. Interested?”

“Of course. Shan’t be long.” 

John cleared away all the cups, plates and glasses around Sherlock’s work space and then returned to the detective. “Sherlock Holmes give me your hand.” It was a command. Sherlock blinked and looked up at him, scowling, but offering his right hand. John took it. “Now stand up.” Sherlock did as instructed but was clearly confused.

“Why?”

“Now follow me.” John turned and led the way to the back bedroom. Once there John  turned on the bedside lamp and shut the door.

“What’s wrong? Is someone listening in to our conversations in the sitting room?” Sherlock looked concerned but interested at that prospect. 

“Noooo.” John over annunciated. “You and I are going to bed.”

“I’m not sleepy.” Sherlock reasoned. 

“Neither am I. Not the point here Sherlock.” 

“But..Oh. Oh that.” Realization dawned. 

“Yes.” John was finding Sherlock’s innocence adorable. “If you are ready, if you are in the mood?”

“Yes. Yes I am.” Sherlock stood to his full height and collected himself. “Yes, John I am in fact ready to sleep with you. After almost five years of longing, it appears the time has arrived. How do we go about it exactly, is there a protocol?”

John giggled at that. “Well we get undressed and get into bed. I’ll just pop to the bathroom first.” 

“Yes. Fine. Good stuff.” Sherlock nodded in agreement. John was still giggling to himself as he brushed his teeth. He returned to the bedroom to find Sherlock standing in exactly the same position he had left him in but stark naked.

“Your naked.” John stated the obvious.

“Yes I am John. You are not.”

“OK. Well then let me remedy that. Erm maybe you need to use the bathroom now?”

“Good idea.” Sherlock strode past and shut the door. John stripped and climbed into the bed. “John?” Sherlock called hesitantly from inside the bathroom.

“Yeah?” John questioned.

“Should I do anything special in here?”

“What are you on about?”

“Preparation or some such thing?” 

John could not hold back a laugh. “No, just come back in here and get into bed.” The detective exited the bathroom and walked around to the other side of the bed.

“I just thought maybe...” He was clearly terrified.

“Sherlock come here.” John held the duvet up for him to climb in. Sherlock did and lay on his side looking at John. The duvet was placed over them both and John reached out to take Sherlock in his arms, the detective went willingly. “Don’t over think this. We go as slow or as fast as you want.” 

“Your skin feels wonderful against mine.” Sherlock whispered, snuggling close to John. ‘I had no idea. Your so warm and soft, and ...’’ John began with a gentle kiss, slow and sensual, Sherlock responded in kind, hands roaming across each other’s bodies, pulses elevating, as they fell into the same breathing pattern. John’s tongue slipped into Sherlock’s mouth and caressed the tip of Sherlock’s tongue, silky and wet and wonderful. John’s hand found it’s way to Sherlock’s arse and resumed the action it had started earlier in the day; stroking, kneading and caressing. Sherlock arched into John, his body responding in ways he did not know how it knew. Sherlock was floating, higher and higher in pleasure, closer and closer but never close enough to John. 

“John, I am overwhelmed.” 

“Oh God Sherlock, this is so good. Finally. Finally.” John rolled Sherlock on to his back and hovered above him. “You know that this is special, you know right? You know this is everything for me. You are everything for me. You know that?”

Sherlock looked up into John’s eyes and nodded. John placed his mouth on top of Sherlock’s neck mole, the one that had been beckoning to him for years and kissed tenderly, he then moved to kiss all the moles dotted across Sherlock’s clavicle and up his long and beautiful neck. Passion was building and John sucked hard and rough on a spot that would surely bruise, then a another spot and then another, he could hear small moaning sounds coming from Sherlock, and he adored the new sound; this was his sound, the one that belonged only to John.

They were both rock hard, rutting into each other, skin slick with their sweat. John pulled back, Sherlock looked lost and so, so beautiful. 

‘How do you want to do this?” John asked.

“Just more John, much, much, more.”

“What do you like?”

“I like you. More of you.” Sherlock reached up and captured John in a dirty deep kiss. It took John’s breath away.

“Jesus Sherlock. I can’t think. Tell me what you prefer.”

“I”, “don’t”  Sherlock spoke between kissing John’s neck. “understand.”

“In the past what position do you like.”

“No past. Just now. Just you.” Sherlock’s hand had finally found John’s cock and John was close, so close.

“Mother of God and all that is holy, Sherlock, you are going to bring me off if you keep doing that.” John gritted his teeth. “Just...Are you telling me that I am in the process of taking your virginity?”

“Yeah.” Sherlock’s hand did not stop. John gathered every remaining ounce of self control and rolled onto his back, catching Sherlock’s clever hand in his. 

“Not with Janine, even as a ruse? She said in the papers..”

“Lies. I avoided ever being in bed with her. Because John Watson, she isn’t you.” Sherlock now looked positively predatory. He moved on all fours down the bed and began to explore John’s cock and balls with his hands and his perfect mouth. John felt on the verge of screaming out Sherlock’s name. He glanced down to see that dark curly head between his legs and thought that he had never seen anything as sexy in his life. John had to push on the base of his cock to slow himself down.

“Come back up here.” He pulled Sherlock back up and on top of him. “We do this together, just like we live our life.”

“Penetrate me.” Sherlock directed. 

“Eventually. But I need to build up to that. Right now we are are going to discover how amazing friction can be.” John reached and pulled a dispenser of lube from his bedside draw and taking one of Sherlock’s hands squirted some into the palm. John rolled Sherlock over and reversed their positions. “Bring your knees up and let me settle between your thighs. Now give me that beautiful hand, and here, wrap it around both cocks, keep them together.” He guided. The feeling of Sherlock’s tight grip and their two cocks against each other was glorious. John began to pump his cock in and out of Sherlock’s hand, gliding up and down Sherlock’s cock in the process, the friction reverberating deep in their groins, building, building to a climax. They both found themselves unable to speak, unable to kiss, soaring high into the pleasure, surrounded by the other, years of want and longing finally being sated, fire, passion, bliss and finally, with incantations of each others names, there came release.

Sherlock’s hand released their cocks, John rolled off him and they lay panting side by side,  still whirling in the sensations. A fews moments passed, their breath slowed down.

“Are you OK?” John asked.

“OK? Am I OK?” Sherlock sounded stunned at the question. It worried John. He rolled and touched the bedside lamp up a notch or two, casting better light on the bed. His first thought was he may have hurt Sherlock’s chest, jeopardizing his healing. John looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock lay spread out on the mattress, his dark hair wild, pointing in every direction. His eyes were wide and red rimmed, tears ran down his face, his cheeks were flushed, his lips kiss swollen and dark. The bruises scattering his neck were blooming, they would be dark by morning, a flush covered his upper chest and neck, his stomach was covered in their cum, his cock semi erect and wet, lay on his thigh. One noticeable scratch ran across his right hip. He looked...he looked...conquered. 

“Oh.” Was all John could say.

“Yes. Oh.” Sherlock was still a little breathless. 

“I don’t know what to say.” John brushed his finger over Sherlock’s face gathering and removing his tears. “Did you enjoy it?”

“John...” Sherlock swallowed and closed his eyes. “It was..” His eyes opened and a smile had took over them. “It was the best high I have ever, EVER, experienced, and I’ve experienced many in my life. I adored every second. I felt worshipped, loved, adored, I felt like I was flying, floating, exploding. It was you and more you and then even more of you. I could live in this bed and do this for the rest of my life. This is you and I, nothing between us, just how we feel about each other. I can never not have this with you. I want you so much more now that I know how you can take me into sheer bliss. John it’s wonderful, your wonderful. When can you do it again?”

John started to giggle, “what have I unleashed?” Sherlock rolled on top of John and kissed him.

“My libido?” Sherlock laughed a deep bass baritone laugh that echoed through John’s chest. John hugged him close as they laughed. “Not gay!” Sherlock mocked. “Maybe just bi.”

“Well no one ever asked me that question. I never said I wasn’t bisexual.”

“Sholto?”

“Yeah. Only a short affair.”

“Am I better than all the men and women you’ve ever had sex with?” Sherlock raised his head to look down at John.

“Absolutely.” John smiled. 

“Why?”

“Because most of them I didn’t love, so it was just a physical release,a few I did love and it was more meaningful. But you...you are the love of my life. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. I have never wanted anyone like I have wanted you. I have never been loved the way you love me. You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on and I am besotted. You are you. No more can be said.”

Sherlock squinted in contemplation of those words. Decided that they were acceptable and wrinkled his nose then beamed a smile like the sun at John. “Fair enough.”

 

******

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to get this chapter posted as I am off to the Elementary Conference in the morning, so it will be 3-4 days before I have time to write again. Please stick with me, I aim to cover the Christmas and Appledore events next week.

The Office of Mycroft Holmes, Vauxhall Cross, London. Day 17

 

Sherlock was waiting. Waiting for his brother to finally finish with the Korean delegation and pay attention to what really mattered: John Watson’s safety. The detective had been in the office for twenty nine minutes and was becoming bored. Anthea had offered various beverages, but he hadn’t come here to drink, he was here on the behest of his brother to hear important information.His long legs were crossed at the knee, stretched out, he was drumming his fingers against the arm rest of the chair.

“Arh, Sherlock.” Mycroft breezed in. “So sorry to keep you waiting. Matters of State in Asia are keeping us busy. That and the Scottish referendum. Tedious business.”

“I have better things to do than sit in your bunker and let Ava Braun furnish me with coffee.” Sherlock sniped, a reference to Hitler his weapon of choice. “Did you really request a subterranean office for security reasons?”

“Yes, of course. Wouldn’t want a random rocket launcher to aim at my window. Imagine the mess it would cause. Clean up would take days.” Mycroft folded into his desk chair. 

“You have an update for me?” Sherlock spoke to the reason for his visit. “In your own good time Mycroft, but I am aging rapidly here.’

“Yes, aren’t we all.” Mycroft gave a fake smile. “How is your....how is John?”

“My what?” Sherlock asked crisply, his eyebrows raising and his eyes narrowing.

“Your friend, your doctor, your partner, or is it more _intimate_ now? Your lover, amore, boyfriend?” Mycroft visibly cringed on the last descriptor.

“John is mine. Just mine. No need to elaborate.” Sherlock clipped his words, “he is very much my concern and my priority at this moment, so will you please update me?”

Mycroft felt a mixture of concern and fondness in that moment for Sherlock. Mycroft knew his brother was finally in a romantic relationship, the journey to which had been fraught with problems, with several more ahead. Yet seeing his baby brother achieving his hearts desire was cause for a sense of pride and admiration. Mycroft gave a genuine smile.

“I do congratulate you both on your new...status. Long may it continue. However we have an impediment that we must deal with. The woman we know as Mary Watson.” Mycroft retrieved a file from a drawer of the desk. He opened it and grimaced. “She is known as The Tiger, a name she earned due to her ferociousness in one to one combat, she is a formidable opponent. Trained by the best the Americans have to offer. CIA for ten years, covert operative, ruthless and pathological in her execution of her orders. She went rouge after an eighteen month undercover mission, during that mission she married a man by the name of Abraham Slaney, and apparently resisted being extracted from her undercover life when the mission was over. It appears that she had formed a deep attachment to Slaney, and miscarried a child at that time. Nothing is known of Slaney’s where abouts currently. Mary then took contracts, assassin for hire with a host of international clients, and we may have a link to a name we all know well. James Moriarty.”

Sherlock looked shocked at the news. “Moriarty employed her?”

“Yes. Under the name Elsie Patrick she was one of his elite soldiers. Responsible for several murders, of both men, women and children.” Mycroft sighed and put the file down on the desk. “She has a persistent desire to settle down, she attempted it with this Slaney fellow, and failed. She appears to desire to do the same with John Watson. Marries them and then becomes pregnant with their child. Her past always comes back to haunt her. She cannot escape her enemies.”  
“Did she kill Slaney?”

“Highly likely. She can’t leave a loose end. I presume that if her dream of a life in the suburbs with Doctor John Watson and their child is not forthcoming, then John will meet the same fate as Slaney.”

“Your plan?” Sherlock appeared shaken by that last sentence.

“He returns to her of course.” Mycroft’s tone was flippant. He saw the horror on his brother’s face. “Not for good Sherlock. But we need to see the file that Magnussen has on her. There may be compromising evidence that we can use to neutralize her, he has information that she would kill for and we need to know what it is. John needs to keep her happy and oblivious until we have that information. How did your rendezvous play out with Magnussen?”

“He took the bait. He wants you and your vast information. I told him I would trade your extensive files for the one file on Mary, and I wanted to see the vaults at Appledore.”  
“When do you need my _extensive files_? It may take some time to prepare fake information.”

“Christmas. I told him I would have everything I needed for the trade at Christmas time.” Sherlock was not happy with the plan. “John can not go back to her from now until Christmas, it’s unthinkable.”

“It’s for his own good. Plus there is the child.”

“Can we ascertain if the child is John’s? Access to her medical files?” Sherlock requested. His brother shrugged.

“Should be easy enough.”

“Do we have a list of the people she has assassinated for money?”

“We know a few, many more are just speculation. That maybe where Magnussen’s information will assist us in placing her behind bars.”

“What was her mission for Moriarty?” Sherlock looked suspicious.

“A few kills. Under the name Moran. She may have been assigned to kill John, but fell for him and couldn’t complete the contract.”

“How romantic.” Sherlock scoffed. “I will discuss this with John. He must have a say in her ultimate fate. I will speak to you shortly.” He raised from his chair and exited the room. Mycroft took the Mary Watson file and placed it back in the desk drawer. He leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes; wishing he could do more to help Sherlock.

 

*******

 

“Hello there.” John positively glowed as Sherlock entered the flat. “Wondered where you had got to.”

“Mycroft.” Sherlock took off his scarf and coat and deposited them on the hook behind the door. “In his bunker. Positively claustrophobic.”

“Important men need hiding places.” John sighed. “But I can’t feel sorry for Mycroft somehow.”

“Never, ever, feel sympathy for Mycroft, John.”

“Did he have any new information?” John was hesitant.

“Mary apparently has done this before. She was on an undercover op for the CIA for eighteen months and met a man, married him, fell pregnant but miscarried the child.” Sherlock saw John visible wince. “They extracted her from the mission but the husband was never seen again.”

“Fuck. I have no idea who this women is do I? It gets worse the more I discover.” John face palmed.

“She is adept at this John. I think she may be a true psychopath. Detached from everyone and everything. Can act any part, any emotion.”

“People think you're like that.”

“But _you_ know different.” Sherlock looked to John for confirmation of that fact.

“Of course I do. Several of us do. You may have some aspirations in that direction but your too bloody emotional to ever succeed.” That comment made Sherlock laugh.

“Just about you.” 

“Yeah, and Mrs Hudson, and Mycroft, and your parents, and Lestrade, and Molly...”

“Stop. Don't rub it in.” Sherlock still looked amused. “I do need you to start building bridges with Mary.”

“What?” 

“It’s insurance. We need to buy time. If you are gradually building bridges then she can believe you are on your way back. And if you are to keep your child John, we have to have a plan in motion.”

“Build bridges how?”

“Start dating her again.”

“Sherlock!!!”

“Not a real date, just dinner to talk. Plan for the baby. You don’t have to be romantic with her.”

“I can’t look at her. She attempted to murder you, she lied to me, she married me, which is probably null and void as she may be a bigamist, she manipulated us all. She threatened both of us with our lives. Sherlock, bloody hell, there is a limit to what I can do.”

Sherlock walked to where John was seated and crouched down in front of him. 

“Just for a few weeks, till we have a solid plan.” 

John shook his head. “I don’t know if I’m that good an actor.”

“Your not.” Sherlock gave a smirk, which made John smile. “But it’s vital you try.”

 

******

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

The Watson’s Flat. 

 

Mary opened the door to a resolute and glum looking John.

“Hi. Come in.” She stood to one side as John entered the flat. Mary closed the door behind him then followed him to the centre of the living room. “So you decided to come over.” Mary stated the obvious.

“Erm...yeah apparently so.” John shrugged. “How are you? The baby?”

“Good. We’re both really good, under the circumstances that is.” Mary attempted levity, her face smiling but her eyes uncertain. “I have my first scan in a week or two, if you want to come with me.”

“Of course I do.” John answered a tad sharply. “Yes, I should be there.” He finished in a lighter tone.

“Can I get you cup of tea?” Mary looked towards the kitchen. “I have the banana and walnut cake you like, I baked it for you. I even put icing on it.”

“That sounds good.” John nodded. Mary looked relieved that her offer had been accepted, and went into the kitchen. John took off his coat and sat down in the chair by the window. The chair that had been his chair when he lived in the flat as the boyfriend, fiancé, husband.....duped fool. John smirked at his thought process; still so angry at the lies and betrayal. He noticed a stack of mail on the coffee table, on closer look, it was all addressed to him. He began to sort through the pile.

“Here we are.” Mary came back in with the tea tray, setting it on the coffee table. “Good, yes I see you found it then, I have kept your mail for you. Probably mostly bills or junk.”

“Looks like it.” John put the mail on the floor by his chair and reached for his mug of tea. “How is the surgery?”

“Fine. All wondering when you will be back. They are suspicious that we have had a falling out, but no one has asked me directly.”

“I may not be back.” John saw Mary’s head snap around in his direction, her eyes ice cold. “I have an offer to buy me out of the practice. A good one. Dr Verner’s son has just got his clinical license to practice and wants into a partnership. The practice would be a good fit, seeing as his Dad started it and ran it for over forty years. I haven’t given him an answer but I’m leaning towards selling my share.”

“And do what?” The tone was cold enough to cause icicles to form.

“Not sure yet. Depends.” John replied, meeting Mary’s stare.

“Depends on what?”

“You. Me. What we are now.” John kept calm and tried to sound tentative. “If I can get past this, accept that I have no idea who you are, yet here I am married to you and we are expecting a baby, if I accept all this maybe I can move on.”

“I’m me. The Mary you met and fell in love with. The Mary you married. It’s all me.” Mary returned to warm tones and animated facial expressions. “You KNOW me, you're maybe the only one that actually knows the real me.”

“Not sure I believe any of that.” John looked away from her. “Too many lies and you are a too bloody good liar.”

“John, we can still have the family we planned, we can go away from here, maybe up to Scotland, you said you had once thought of practicing as a GP in the same town as your grandfather. You could do that if you sell out of the practice here. We could be packed and moved by the time the baby is born.” Mary was positively aglow with anticipation and dreams.

“Just like that...take off and relocate to the other end of the country?” John scoffed.

“Yeah. People do it all the time. A new life, a new beginning. Just the three of us.”

“What about Sherlock?” John couldn’t help asking the question but regretted it as soon as it left his lips. Mary visibly seethed.

“What about Sherlock?” 

“I can’t leave London.... I help him with his work.” John fumbled on his words, his heart sinking, the one thought at the forefront of his brain; _have I just signed Sherlock’s death warrant?_

Mary stilled, observing John’s reaction. John could read doubt in her eyes.

“Look, I’m not sure of anything. I haven’t made a decision on the future. I’m still hurt, confused and I’ll admit it; I feel like a fucking fool. I want the Mary back that I knew, the one I married. I am not certain you are, or whereever, that woman. I need time.” He stood up, anxious to leave the flat now he felt he had misstepped in the plan. “I’ll call, set up a time to meet you for that scan.” He made for the door.

“John.” Mary directed his attention back. “I will wait. Think about Scotland.”

John opened the front door, turned and looked at Mary, then nodded and left.

 

********

 

Sherlock was not in 221b when John returned. John took his coat off and went into the kitchen to make tea. Sherlock suddenly stood at the kitchen door, flushed, out of breath, and clearly having ran in from outside. John looked him up and down.

“You followed me.” It was a statement of fact.

“What? No. I went to get milk, we’re out.” Sherlock tried for nonchalance.

“Then where is it?” John noted that the detective’s hands were empty.

“What?”

“The milk!”

“Oh.” Sherlock grimaced. “I forgot it.”

“So you went out to get milk, went to the shop, then forgot the milk?” John was amused.

“Yes. Exactly.” Sherlock sighed. John opened the fridge door and pointed to two new pints of milk. “Didn’t see them in there.” Innocence from Sherlock. “Busy thinking. Thinking about the worK.” He clicked the ‘K’.

John shut the fridge door and approached his detective. “You know that you have nothing, nothing to worry about with me seeing Mary?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“You were the one that suggested I see her, your idea to keep her hopes up of a reconciliation. Not my choice; yours. Therefore no reason for jealousy or worry.” John was very close now.

“Umm.” A nod from Sherlock. but then a collapse of his facade; “did she kiss you? Tempt you back? Use the baby as leverage? Did you feel any affiliation with her? Fondness? I couldn’t see into the flat from my vantage point, did she touch you?” Sherlock caught the flow of questions escaping his lips. He stopped, frowned, then rose to his full height. “I meant to ask if she was threatening or demanding with you?”

John smiled and bit his bottom lip. He placed his hands on Sherlock’s biceps and steadied the detective. “Listen to me. It is fine to feel panic, jealousy, fear....all that. When you love someone you become.....”

“Pathetic?” Sherlock interjected.

“Vulnerable.” John corrected. “Love turns us all into fools. It’s fine. I think she bought my indecision, I think I left her with hope that I may decide to take her back. Now as far as you are concerned Mr Holmes, there cannot be a shred of doubt that you have me completely till the day I die. Do you know that?”

“I do.” Sherlock looked into John’s deep blue eyes and believed. “But it's still new and terrifying.”

John reached up and pushed an errant curl away from Sherlock’s eye. “It’s all fine. Let’s order take away and cuddle on the sofa all evening. Forget about Mary for tonight.”

“She makes everything .....just wrong John. It was you and I, now she is there whether I want her or not. She insinuated herself into our lives and she won’t go away.”

“I don’t love her Sherlock. I love you.” 

“Yes.”

“Idiot.”

 

*******


	7. Chapter 7

West India Dock, near Canary Wharf London.

 

The luxury Benetti yacht nestled in the east mooring of the exclusive dock as Mary walked down the jetty, admiring the huge private vessel. It spoke of pure wealth and power. Mary wondered if she was dressed correctly; her maternity jeans and red coat felt so inadequate. She pulled the coat across her baby bump and boarded the vessel. Immediately a selection of various lights illuminated the aft deck, showcasing the design and features of the beautiful ship in the twilight.

“Hello Mrs Watson.” The male Irish lilt greeted her. “I have gone much too long without the delight of your presence.” Mary looked up and saw James Moriarty looking down at her from the top deck.

“James.” Mary smiled.

“Just go to your right and I’ll meet you in the salon.” The man disappeared from view. Mary turned and walked to her right and entered the interior of the yacht. A spectacular lounge spread out before her, white leather, black surfaces and plush white carpet. A grand piano graced the centre of the room and the panoramic window was allowing a breathtaking view of London.

“My dear.” Moriarty entered and greeted Mary with a kiss to each cheek. He smelled expensive. “Please come and sit. A lady in your condition should get off her feet as much as possible.” 

Mary smirked, shucked her red coat onto the floor, rolled her cream maternity jumper up to expose a fake pregnant belly strapped to her torso. Reaching around the back she deftly undid the ties and allowed the belly to fall to the floor with a quiet pop. Moriarty giggled. “Never did imagine anyone could actually get you up the duff my girl.”

“Many have tried. None have succeeded.” Mary pulled down her sweater and folded herself into the white leather couch, she reached for a small bunch of grapes on the ledge to her left and began to eat the fruit.

“We appear to have a bit of a situation my dear. Hubby playing away? And for the other team no less. Not really the game plan my Mor-Mor.”

“It’s in hand.” Mary stated. “John will be back, even if it’s because he has to be with me in order to keep Sherlock alive. It’s my ace in the hole, I’ll use it if I have to.”

“Speaking of our beautiful detective, you did nearly kill him, I thought you understood that I want him to play with, not despatched off the face of the earth.”

“It was a warning. I had no intention of killing him.” Mary watched as her lie landed and was satisfied that Moriarty accepted it.

“It would have been a severe mistake that you would have paid for in kind.”

“You have it bad for Sherlock don’t you?” Mary teased.

“As bad as you apparently have it for the good doctor.”

“What a pair we are.” Mary laughed. “I fall for the mark and can’t bare him ever leaving me, you plant me there in the first place to see if your object of desire ever shows up.”

“Oh I knew he would. Once my contacts suddenly all started turning up dead, he kind of gave himself away. A few got to him, but he out played them all. I am hard just thinking about his abilities.”

“Your twin’s death requires retribution.”

“Poor Jim, so much promise and so many mental health issues. I will be sure to avenge his murder. But I do want to satisfy my fantasy with Sherlock first.” Moriarty took a seat next to Mary.

The assassin looked at him and shook her head. “Magnussen has intel on me. I attempted to extract it but the evening went to pot and I never did complete the job.” 

“He is not our problem. I will pay whatever he is demanding. He may come in useful in the future. Your task now is to get your husband back. I want our detective alone and very, very vulnerable.”

“Agreed.” Mary nodded as James smiled.

 

********

 

Mycroft’s office. MI6 Vauxhall Cross London.

 

Mycroft glanced up as Sherlock entered the room. “Sherlock.” He greeted.

“News?” The detective enquired.

“Some. We have the fake files and a lap top with tracking device ready. You need to arrange delivery on Christmas Day. We shall go to Mummy’s for Christmas and you can arrange for Magnussen to pick you up and take you to Appledore from there. I expect john will be with you.” Mycroft was busy with other files as he spoke.

“Of course.”

“I will have the SAS team on standby if we need to launch a rescue.”

“There will be no need for heroics.” SHerlock looked horrified. “Magnussen is all about the threat. I doubt he would physically hurt anyone. His weapon is exposure.”

“Yes. Apparently so. He has ‘things‘  by which he may expose you.”

“What things?” 

“Indiscreet things, of a sexual nature.”

“On me?” Sherlock scoffed in disbelief. “That would be impossible.”

“Maybe at one time brother dear, but now? Now with John living with you again at Baker Street, well, that is no longer the case is it?”

“What are you talking about Mycroft. Spit it out.” The detective was alarmed.

“My resources tell me he has knowledge of the intimate relationship between yourself and John.”

“Oh _that,_ well that’s fine. I have no problem with him telling the world I am in a relationship with John.” Sherlock relaxed.

“It’s not the world that has a gun to John’s head. It’s Mary and she cannot know.” Mycroft returned in a sharp tone.”We have to get the footage he must have of the two of you together.”

“He has the flat bugged? I thought your people sweep weekly.”

“We do. But between the sweeps he must have managed to gain access to the flat.”

“This man is proving himself to be an irritant.” Sherlock paced the office.

“We need the information he has against Mary, it’s our leverage to save John, and we need whatever he has on you to prevent Mary knowing John is not returning home. Therefore you need to access those vaults and find the files.”

“Bring the lap top at Christmas. I’ll contact Magnussen to do the swap that afternoon. That way I won’t have to endure the Queen’s speech with Mummy complaining. I will have the information we need by Boxing Day.”

“Good. We shall push on then.” Mycroft smiled and returned to his work.

 

*******

221B Baker Street. Bedroom.

 

Sherlock climbed into bed at three a.m and sought out the warm body of John. He wrapped his left leg around the sleeping doctor and moved to align himself along John’s side. John snuffled his face into Sherlock’s hair and made a small satisfied sound. Sherlock was convinced John remained asleep and pulled in tighter to him.

“I love you John Watson.” Sherlock whispered into John’s ear. “There is nothing I will not do for you. I _will_ keep you safe.”

John slept soundly, nestled into his detective. Across the city, in the master suite of a luxury Benetti Vision 145 yacht, James Moriarty and the assassin known as Moran plotted.

 

*******

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware, some heartbreak in this chapter.

Obstetricians Office Harley Street, London.

 

The ultrasound scan of Baby Watson had been scheduled to occur at the plush office of a private physician in an exclusive obstetrics practice on swanky Harley Street.  Mary arranged to meet John there on a chilly November afternoon. John arrived to find Mary waiting by the front door of the practice.

“Harley Street?” He greeted her with a look of disbelief and a question.

“I want the best for the baby. I can afford it.” She frowned. “I won’t be asking you to pay.”

“No, it’s fine, just thought you’d go NHS.”

“I’d have thought with your best friend having recovered in a top, very exclusive, private hospital, you would be accustomed to high standards.” A slight sarcasm was in her tone.

John ignored it. “Shall we go in?” He gestured to the hallway of the clinic and Mary led the way.

Once registered and greeted the Watson’s took a seat in the waiting room, they were the only couple there. 

“Have you looked at the information yet?” Mary referred to the AGRA memory stick. “If not I wish you would, the suspense is not good for my stress level.”

“You have a stress level?” John asked, ‘because if you do I haven’t seen it.”

“I control my emotions John, they are not absent. You know that I can be very emotional at times. You loved my bubbly personality, and that hasn’t gone anywhere.”

John bit his tongue, he wanted to argue these points with Mary, but he knew that the result would be disastrous. Instead he cleared his throat and reached for a magazine.

“Mary Watson?” A nurse came into the room. “Come with me and we’ll get you started.” John stood up and assisted Mary into a standing position. “Daddy can you wait till we get Mummy all sorted, then we’ll call you in?”

It was the first time anyone had called them Mummy and Daddy and John felt a pressure raise deep inside himself, one that held visions of babies, toddlers, school days, teenagers,....he felt his future laid out before him. 

“You need to sit back down John you look a bit daunted.” Mary laughed. John sat back down as the nurse escorted Mary into an interior corridor.

John took his phone from his coat pocket and sent a text to SHerlock.

_All OK, but think the reality of fatherhood is finally kicking in. We really need to talk this over._

Within a few seconds the reply came back.

_Tonight then. I will do the research whilst you are out this afternoon. Childcare cannot be that complicated. Don’t worry. SH._

John huffed an amused laugh at how naive Sherlock was on this area and pocketed his phone. The nurse returned and he was led into the ultrasound suite and found Mary prone on a bed, covered in snug blankets. The room was cold.

“Not going to expose Mummy’s tummy to the cold air, our central heating is out in this area of the building. But I can move the probe under the covers.” The nurse, or rather ultrasound technician, smiled. “Mummy is jellied up and ready.” John took a position on the opposite side of Mary and focused on the screen.

The monitor showed excellent 3D images, and John could make out some of the female anatomy as the tech moved the probe across Mary’s stomach. Suddenly a baby was on screen, a baby that was waving it’s arms around and then rubbing at it’s nose. Both Mary and John laughed, they shared their first fond glance at each other for several months.

“There is your baby!” The tech spoke, "do we want to know the sex?”

“Yeah.” Mary looked at John for approval and he nodded.

“It’s.....” the tech maneuvered the probe, “it’s a baby girl.”

“Perfect.” Mary beamed and took hold of John’s hand. John gave her hand a squeeze.

“All looks good. But we’ll have Dr Marcus take a look and then talk to you.” The ultrasound film was achieved in the computer and sent to the doctor’s laptop in the next room. “Daddy if you will wait back in the waiting room, we will clean Mummy up and get you two a coffee or tea, and then you will meet to talk to Doctor.” The tech opened the door for John to leave. He glanced at Mary who looked positively aglow and for one moment he saw the woman he had married. But then Mary’s expression changed and the moment passed. John left the room.

After tea and an array of Fortnum and Mason biscuits, a routine chat with the obstetrician and the gift of a photo of their baby taken during the scan, the Watson’s left the building. They stood on the pavement for a few moments in silence.

“We need to talk.” Mary looked down at the ground. “I have to know if you want to stay with me and the baby or not.”

“I’m not ready yet.” John replied. “No where near a decision.”

“What more can you want John? You have just seen your daughter’s image in there, she needs her Daddy to be with her Mummy. She needs loving parents in a loving home. It’s your daughter for God’s sake.”

John stared at Mary. He knew manipulation as an old friend. He nodded and hailed a cab. “I’ll be in touch.” It was the only answer he would give. John left in the taxi, Mary returned into the building. The ultrasound tech and doctor were both standing at the reception.

“Here is payment for your services.” Mary handed them a large envelope from her bag. 

“Did he believe it?” The doctor asked.

“Yes. It went perfectly. Thank you again.” Mary turned and walked out into the London bustle.

 

 

*******

 

221B Baker Street.

 

“A girl. Oh.” Sherlock looked fondly at John. 

“Yeah. Feels real now.” John looked down at the photo of the unborn baby girl he thought was his. “She was moving her arms and rubbing her nose.”

“Not licking her lips yet then?”

“Oh she will, all the Watson’s do it.” John smirked. “She is a bit small for her gestation period but neither Mary nor I are large people.”

“We need to convert your old room, with baby monitors linked to our room. Maybe we can have a skylight put in so she can see the stars when she is in her cot. You can teach her about the cosmos.” Sherlock plopped down in his chair. “Maybe a lilac paint on the walls, we can start to look at baby furniture. We need a second cot in here too, for her naps.” John gazed at Sherlock. “What?” The detective asked puzzled.

“You are going to go manic about the baby just like you did the wedding aren’t you?” 

“Of course not. I wasn’t manic about the wedding. Was I? Well no, I am just being practical. Babies need a great many things John, you have no idea. And our baby should have....”

“Sherlock.” John’s tone halted the detective’s train of thought. Sherlock looked to see John was overcome with emotion and his eyes had welled up.

“Did I say something wrong?” Sherlock enquired tentatively.

John shook his head. “You said ‘our’ baby. Is that what you feel this baby is?”

“Did I? Overstepping my bounds?” Sherlock was worried.

“Never. This baby is mine and so therefore yours. The baby is indeed ours.” John managed a smile although he felt moved to tears. Sherlock came to kneel in front of him, John sat forward in his chair and put his hands either side of Sherlock’s head. “Do we want custody of the baby? It will mean a lifestyle change. Babies change everything.”

“I want what you want. Yes, I want the baby here with us if possible. She’s your daughter, my step daughter?”

“Yeah, she is.” John looked relieved. “I’d prefer to have her here. I don’t want shared custody. Not with the woman who tried to kill you.”

“Then...” Sherlock rested his forehead onto John’s, “then we get full custody. We need to start planning, hire the right solicitor, get the information from Appledore in order to have the leverage. We need you closer to Mary until the birth, we have to know her every move. If I were her, I would be doubting your return. I would be readying my exit with the baby.”

“Our baby needs to be with us. I will do anything Sherlock.” John whispered. “I don’t want to lose our little girl.”

“ We talk to Mycroft in the morning.” Sherlock shifted and kissed John’s head. They moved into a tight hug. “It will all be fine.”

 

****** 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a few reminders as we approach the penultimate chapter.   
> 1/ John thinks Mycroft is in the process of getting the information from Magnussen concerning Mary. Sherlock has never told John that it will be the two of them that go to Appledore and swap information on Mycroft/government secrets in exchange for the files on Mary.  
> 2/ John does not know about the meeting between Magnussen and Sherlock in the Italian restaurant.  
> 3/ John also does not know that Sherlock and Mycroft have doctored the laptop's data to render it useless to Magnussen.  
> 4/ John thinks the Christmas Day at the Holmes estate is purely to get the reconciliation underway, as he needs to keep Mary close till they have leverage to use on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My intent was not to change the BBC canon that has aired in His Last Vow, but to give a plausible back story with added scenes to give an explanation to why events may have developed as they did, and why character's acted the way they did. Of course it comes from me so the emphasis is all Johnlock. I plan to write a final chapter on the time that elapsed between the shooting of CAM and the exile scene.  
> I will not resolve anything in this story, as the series left things very much open and uncertain. I intend to continue this story after we get more BBC canon in the next episode, so there may be a long wait.  
> Thank you all for reading.

221B Christmas Morning.

 

John and Sherlock were dressing for the trip to Wiltshire and the Christmas dinner at the Holmes estate. Sherlock was not in an affable mood; he hated family gatherings just a smidgeon less than he hated gatherings which involved the woman known as Mary Watson. Today would prove to be a terrible day for all concerned, but at this hour of preparation, Sherlock only anticipated one horrendous thing: John was to pretend to reconcile with Mary today.

“Burn the memory stick in full view of Mary.” Sherlock had been giving advice to John since they had woken up. “If you return it there will be evidence that it has been opened and read. She will anticipate it was either Mycroft or myself that read the fabrications on there, which she will anyway, but no point confirming it for her.” Sherlock finished tying his shoe laces and straightened up. “Have you finalized your reconciliation speech?”

“Sherlock.” John sighed. “I may wing it, it will sound more natural and she can read me.” He saw the look of fear in Sherlock’s eyes. “I will make sure I say the bit you want me to say, about her past is her business and her future is my privilege. That’s a good line.” He placated.

“Yes, I think so. Succinct and conveys decisive intent.” Sherlock looked proud of his verbal contribution. “My parents will be fluttering about and that will help with the general ethos of happy couples. Put her in the mood. I have no doubt that she will break down into tears of joy and take you back immediately.”

“Thanks for having faith in me.” John made a skeptical face.

“Well if it were me, I would take you back without a second thought.”

John smiled. He approached Sherlock fondly. “Just so we are clear. I will tell her that I am moving back in with her tomorrow. But we will take it slow. I need time to get to know the new version of my wife. So I will sleep on the sofa for the time being. Maybe after the baby is born I will take her on a second honeymoon and we can rekindle the romance then. It may be enough to buy us time until we have the information on her verified and our plan in place.”

“The only way she doesn’t run John is if you are with her. We need to keep your wife safe. If we want our little girl you have to play this part till the birth. Then we take custody of the baby and dispatch Mary out of our lives. Remember that she is a cold, calculating assassin behind the facade, and if she has a hint of duplicity she will run, have the baby in hiding and return to assassinate us both.”

‘Yeah.” John looked up into Sherlock’s eyes, they were grave and fearful. “I can do this. For us, I can do this. You didn’t trust me last time we had a crisis, you protected me by lies and almost killed me in the fall out, so I need you to trust me now. I will save both of us and our baby. I promise. Nothing will stop me Sherlock, I have you now and I know what our future looks like. I will not let us down.” Captain John Watson was suddenly present in the room. “Into battle?”

“Yes.” Sherlock braced himself and gave a small nod.

 

*******

 

Christmas Day. Wisteria Lodge, Marlborough, Wiltshire.

 

The drive to the Holmes family estate had taken just on two and a half hours. The chauffeur driven limousine which initially had appeared long, elegant and huge, had somehow shrunk into a tiny space that transported five people in absolute silence for the duration of the journey. Arriving in front of the pretty Cotswold house, the chauffeur brought the vehicle to a stop.

“Oh are we here already? Time just flew by.” Sherlock’s sarcasm was not unexpected. “Now for the continuation of the jollities with mater and pater.” 

“It was a lovely ride. Beautiful countryside.” Billy Wiggins got out of the car and stretched. “A pink house! Your Mum must have the say on the decor.”

“Yes, it is rather an unfortunate shade.” Mycroft followed Wiggins out of the car. “I was hoping she would chose National Trust green, or a basic biscotti.”

John joined Mycroft and Wiggins looking at the house. “It’s smaller than I was expecting. But it’s a great house.” 

“I could use a hand here.” Mary called from the interior of the limo. John went back to offer assistance. Sherlock was still in his corner of the back seat. His eyes met John’s, they registered apprehension. 

“Are you getting out?” John asked the detective.

“It’s probably expected that I should.” Sherlock sighed and disembarked. “Well here we all are. Shall we commence with this endeavor?” He led the way up the garden path towards the front door, which opened and revealed the Holmes parents.

“Hello, hello. There you all are.” Mr Holmes senior greeted.

“Come in everyone. It’s lovely to see you all.” His wife beamed.

Greetings were exchanged and Mrs Holmes led the Watsons into the large front reception room, where she made Mary comfortable in an soft armchair in front of the fire. Sherlock and Mycroft made a beeline for the kitchen, where Sherlock won the race for the one arm chair in the room and plopped down with intent to remain. Mycroft groaned, rolled his eyes and took a seat at his Mother’s kitchen table. Mr Holmes was left to give Wiggins a tour of the house with commentary on the various Holmes family photographs that lined the walls and graced the furniture. 

Once Mary was ensconced in her chair in the reception room, John made an excuse and left the room to find Sherlock. “I need some air, think I’ll walk around the garden for a while.” He told the detective. Once John had left the room, Mycroft glanced over at his brother.

“Think he can pull it off for the next few months?” Mycroft asked.

“Not sure. Need a contingency plan. If she bolts we need to apprehend her till the birth. Use some terrorist law or what-not to make it legal.” Sherlock did not look up from his newspaper.

“We shall simply prosecute her for the crimes which are detailed in Magnussen’s files. You said she admitted that her crimes could imprison her for life. That may be the best course of action in the long run for the safety of all concerned.”

“Thought had occured.” Sherlock noted. “We keep her safe from Magnussen until the child is born, then turn her over to the courts.”

“All set for this afternoon with Magnussen?”

“Yes, simple exchange is all. Then I shall leave him alone. Whatever he has on others is non of my business. I have spoken to my client and the case is closed. As you had wished brother dear.” 

“I have my own agenda with the man. Nothing for you to worry about.” Mycroft looked around the kitchen and saw Wiggins in the back kitchen making a bowl of punch. “I am presuming that your protege is concocting some refreshment with a kick to it?” Sherlock just smiled and went back to reading his newspaper.

“I have to get the potatoes on.” Mrs Holmes busied into the kitchen, “if we are to eat right after Her Majesty’s speech.”

“The sacrilege if we were a few minutes off schedule.” Mycroft smirked at Sherlock. 

 

**********

 

Dear Readers please insert the Christmas scenes [from the Holmes family house to the shooting of CAM] from ‘His Last Vow’ HERE.

 

*******


	10. Chapter 10

Appledore. Post shooting.

 

 

Sherlock and John had been separated by the police team at Appledore immediately following the incident. The police response team had taken the crime scene area and within seconds they had control. John had been bustled into the house and held by two armed officers where he could not see the events unfolding outside, as the glare from the interior lights marred his view. He knew the helicopter had landed from the sounds outdoors and he thought he saw Sherlock pulled down into a prone position by an officer, presumably he was searched for further weapons, then they appeared to take the detective off towards the front of the house. John was terrified for Sherlock’s well being, the only glimmer of hope was that Mycroft was on the scene. John’s adrenaline was coursing through his system, out of control.

Sherlock had been dragged, his wrists and ankles zip tied, to the front driveway, he lay on the asphalt trying to steady his breath, surrounded by police. Mycroft had appeared, looking deranged, shouting orders and demanding immediate action. Sherlock found himself carried to the helicopter and thrown across the rear bucket seat. Mycroft  joined him, as well as the crew, and the helicopter took off. Sherlock looked down at Appledore as it grew smaller and smaller to his view, and wondered what was happening to John. Mycroft cut the zip ties off his brother’s ankles and assisted him to a sitting position.

The brothers looked at each other, several messages exchanged without words. It ended with Mycroft burying his head in his hands and Sherlock turning to see his own reflection in the window of the helicopter; even to his own eyes he looked so very alone.

 

******

 

Safe House, Reigate. Two days post shooting of Magnussen.

 

Mycroft had used his power to place Sherlock under house arrest in a semi-detached government safe house in the town of Reigate, to the south of the capital, until he could sort out the mess caused by sentiment and one illegal army pistol. Mycroft had not been seen since he disembarked the helicopter at an airfield. No words had been exchanged between the brothers, in fact Sherlock had not spoken at all since the words to John after he killed Magnussen. He was being kept in the rear lounge of the house, police on guard at every point of egress. 

The detective was aware that someone had arrived at the property, but was surprised when John entered the room, he had expected Mycroft. Sherlock and John stared at each other, not moving, the door was closed behind John and they had privacy.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock was the first to speak. 

“Of course I’m not alright. You’re in here.” 

“Could be worse John. It’s a temporary situation. Been in much worse.”

“Sherlock.” John did not want to hear acceptance. “Bloody hell.”

“No other option.  Everything in his head, the power to publicly divulge anything on any one of us, could not let that continue. May have resulted in your death.”

“In front of a police response team? They could have killed you.” John was looking devastated.

“Could of, didn’t.” John shook his head, clearly upset. Sherlock walked across the room to be closer to him. “It will be fine. We are still standing. Not done yet.” His voice was gentle.

“What now?” John looked into the detectives eyes, begging for the right reply.

“Now, we see what Mycroft can negotiate. There will be consequences. But you will not be blamed for any of it.” 

“Stop being brave Sherlock. Stop being....resigned. I am dying inside. So just stop, please.” 

“Where have you left this with Mary?” Sherlock kept his composure.

“She knows you killed Magnussen. I told her exactly what you directed me to; that you did it to keep her safe. She is relieved, she lost a blackmailer and, in her mind, a rival in one shot. She is...well, as far as I can tell; happy.”

“Excellent. A happy Mary means a safe John.” Sherlock smiled. “Keep up with the plan, stay close, you and the baby will be safe.”

“No. Just no Sherlock. I don’t want safety at the expense of your freedom. No.” John was allowing his emotions to gather strength, he was making a fist intermittently and the volume of his voice was rising. “I can’t do this without you.”

“I am afraid John that I may have forfeited my freedom already. I think we have to go with that now.”

“Fuck it, fuck it all. How did it become so fucked up?”

Sherlock finally put his arms around John, hugging him tightly, burying his nose in John’s hair. John clung to the detective as if it were a last embrace.

 

******

A disused warehouse on the outskirts of London. Same day.

 

Mycroft waited, waited for over two hours, in the dank, abandoned building, listening to the drip of water from a broken pipe on an upper floor. Finally he heard footsteps and a neat, trim figure appeared, walking towards him.

“Mycroft. It’s been too long.” James Moriarty had a smile on his face.

“James.” Mycroft was curt. “Punctuality, it seems, is not one of your strong suits.”

“Something came up. You know how it is. Busy men and all.” James stopped three foot away from Mycroft. “So, let’s cut to the chase. Your little brother went and killed the biggest media mogul in the world, in plain sight of law enforcement officials and now you have a problem.”

“Yes.” Mycroft remained aloof.

“What did Charles Augustus Magnuussen have on Sherlock? Or maybe it wasn’t Sherlock, maybe it was you? Or John? Or maybe it was that wife of John’s. Bad girl that one.”

“You would know, you employed her on occasion.”

“Yes, she is a trusted and respected employee. However a tendency to go rouge on occasion. Usually when she falls for a mark. How is John taking all this?”

Mycroft twirled his umbrella. “John is not at his best currently.”

“Well with the love of his life facing life imprisonment for murder, I can understand why.”

“I am hoping we can avoid that possibility.” Mycroft began to walk around Moriarty, in circles. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Ask, ask dear boy, I will see if I can oblige” Moriarty was beaming with the joy of the situation.

“I have negotiated a deal for my brother. He will be spared prosecution, under the official secrets act, but in return he is to be placed on a mission in central Europe. A suicide mission, he will not survive longer than four months.” Mycroft saw James flinch at that fact. “His use to the British Government as an operative on this mission must be eclipsed by his use to the British Government on a different mission. One that keeps him home and has better odds of survival.”

“Oh Mycroft, I am on your side here. I could not condone the death of our beautiful Sherlock on a seedy mission in central Europe. Oh no, Sherlock deserves better, a worthy foe, good odds at winning, a longer game.” James was accepting the plan that Mycroft had broached. “I am presuming that you would like me to engage him in that new mission?’

“If you would be so kind James.” Mycroft gave a slight bow.

“Not at all dear fellow. I shall make my presence known immediately.”

“Maybe wait till tomorrow at noon? I must dispatch Sherlock off to his death in order to convince onlookers of what I would sacrifice for my country’s law and order, but then if you should ‘pop’ back up, I can divert him back home.”

The two men smirked at each other.

“All bets would be off Mycroft. If I do this for you, then I want to actually play the game.”

“Sherlock will win.” Mycroft reminded.

“Maybe, maybe not. But you will step back and let me play. It’s my only caveat. I want Sherlock alive and in top form.”

“And the revenge for your twin brother?”

“I will get that in due course. Jim was a bit of a liability, but family and all that.”

“No one knows that there were two of you, including Sherlock. It will be shocking that you rose from the dead.”

“Oh we all do it, Irene Adler, Sherlock and me, it’s what we do.”

“Then we have a deal?” Mycroft brought the meeting to a close.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” James shook Mycroft’s hand. ‘May I?” James reached over and pulled out the red silk kerchief that Mycroft wore in his jacket’s breast pocket. James polished his Ray ban sunglasses with the material. He attempted to hand it back to Mycroft.

“No, keep it. A memento of our meeting.” Mycroft flicked his hand in dismissal.

“A red rag to the bull Mycroft.” James giggled. “Oh I am so going to enjoy all of this. Cheerio.” He strode away in the direction from whence he had come.

 

*******

 

Reigate Safe House. 10pm Same Day.

 

 

The police officers had served John and Sherlock dinner of Chinese takeaway and two bottles of wine, which had mostly been left untouched as neither man was in the mood for food. John had flopped down on the sofa and was just watching Sherlock move about the room. The detective was taking a phone call from Mycroft. Once it was completed Sherlock sat down next to John.

“He’s managed to wrap the shooting into an ongoing operation that MI5 were conducting on Magnussen. Apparently many members of the government, high civil service and royalty were being blackmailed, or exposed in his tabloids. He had phone taps on many celebrities as well. Apparently I was on a mission and in order not to expose secrets of the realm I shot the man. For Queen and Country. But, I did murder an unarmed man, so I do have to pay a price.” Sherlock explained rapidly to John.

“How high a price?” 

“Not prosecution or prison, they want me on a mission, overseas. Mycroft will tell me more tomorrow. I’m to leave late morning.” Sherlock was attempting to keep his demeanor unemotional, but he felt John slump next to him, and dared to glance around. John looked beaten. “It’s better than I expected. I wouldn’t have lasted long in prison.”

“Sherlock.” John raised his eyes to meet the detectives, and there were tears welling. “How many times do I have to lose you?”

“This will be the last time, I promise.” Sherlock knew the mission he had been chosen to embark upon; Mycroft had said six months.

“I want to come with you. I _am_ coming with you.” John made up his mind.

“John, do you want your daughter? Because if you leave with me tomorrow, you will never meet her, you will never be able to see her grow. Mary will leave England and we will not find her.” 

“I don’t know my daughter, I know you. My choice is you. Always you.” John placed his hand at the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulled so their foreheads were touching. “The two of us against the rest of the world.”

“I can’t let you do it.” Sherlock whispered. “You would resent me for it eventually.”

“You have no say in the matter, I am coming with you. If you go then I go.” John whispered back.

“I want that baby girl John, it’s our daughter remember. I want that. I may be home sooner than you could ever expect, and that life, it could be ours. Please, you have to stay and make sure it occurs. Please do this for me. That baby is part of you, I want every part of John Watson that is available in this world.”

“You love so deeply....” John kissed Sherlock’s nose. “Your heart is as immense as your brain.” He kissed his lips. "And nobody knows that.”

“You know.” Sherlock kissed John back. 

“Do you have a double bed somewhere in this house?”

“A kingsize bed, one floor up. Can you stay with me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

 

******

 

Morning. Reigate safe house.

 

 John was dressing, Sherlock sitting up in bed watching. Neither had slept, love had been made, then resignation and sorrow had set in.

“If you bring Mary to the airfield, we shall have a formal goodbye for her benefit. Remember we haven’t seen each other since my arrest and I know very little about the reconciliation or the progress of the baby.” Sherlock was making sure John was prepared.”We part as friends, all three of us. It ensures she feels safe in her victory over me.”

“What victory?” John didn’t understand.

“She won John. She won you.”

John moved back to the bed and positioned himself over Sherlock. “You won, you won the day I laid eyes on you. Maybe a bumpy ride but you won. And I expect you back in 221b asap, we may not have the information we needed to leverage Mary’s departure but I have a feeling Mycroft will come up with something by the time you return and the baby is born. So, gorgeous, finish that mission and get yourself home.” Sherlock gave John a huge smile.

“I love you John Watson.”

“I love you Sherlock Holmes.”

A knock on the bedroom door; a police officer telling them John’s ride had arrived.

“See you at the airport, where I shall give an Oscar winning performance. I think the farewell scene from Casablanca.” John joked as he left the room. 

Sherlock sighed, closed his eyes and wept.

 

********* 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a brief epilogue tomorrow.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a sequel, not sure when, but I intend to finish the Mary arc with some of my ideas of how it plays out. Thanks for reading.

The airfield. Sherlock’s jet touches down on the runway.

 

The jet taxied to a halt, after a few seconds the door opened, and Sherlock disembarked. He looked at Mycroft with a puzzled and exasperated expression, Mycroft, remaining aloof, shrugged. Sherlock turned to look at John, John beamed a smile at him which Sherlock wanted to kiss.

“How was your trip?” John smirked.

“Scintillating.” Sherlock replied with a small grin. “Now will someone tell me why I am back on terra firma?”

“I think it best to show you.” Mycroft gestured to his car. Sherlock strode over to the vehicle and poured himself into the rear, John followed across the tarmac at a soldier’s march, and climbed in after the detective. Mary appeared dazed and confused as she stood watching the scene unfold. Mycroft stared at her.

“Gordon.” He summoned an employee. “Be so kind as to escort Mrs Watson home. Take the second car.” Mary looked surprised at this. “In your condition you should be kept out of harm’s way. Best you return home.” Mycroft’s tone was slightly patronizing.

“I can help.” Mary pointed out.

“Oh, I think you may have helped us quite enough Mrs Watson. We’ll take it from here.” Mycroft walked away from her and joined Sherlock and John in the car. The door closed and the car took off in a northerly direction. Mary remained flabbergasted, staring at the departing car.

“Mrs Watson. Whenever you are ready.” The MI5 agent had Mary's ride ready. 

Mary pulled herself together. “Yeah. Can you drop me off near Canary Wharf, I need to see a friend.”

 

**********

 

Vauxhall Cross, London. Mycroft’s Office.

 

Sherlock had seen the footage of Moriarty being broadcast to every television set in the United Kingdom. During the journey to central London, Mycroft had been silent, ignoring John and Sherlock as they discussed the possibility of Moriarty faking his death on the roof of St Bart's. Now ensconced in Mycroft’s ‘bunker’, the elder Holmes brother decided to speak.

“Stop with the rumination. I shall explain.”

Sherlock snapped his head around and looked at his brother, sudden realization setting in. “Oh this is you! This is your doing isn’t it? Moriarty’s reappearance was your plan.”

“I had no choice. If I were to prevent you from going on the mission to central Europe, a suicide mission, then I had to come up with a reason for your presence to be vital to the country.” Mycroft defended his actions. John was gaping like a fish.

“Hold on, suicide mission? You were going on a suicide mission?” John looked at Sherlock, and could immediately tell that Sherlock had lied to him.

“I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t cause you that worry or pain. I.......” Sherlock was at a loss at what to say.

“More fucking lies, Sherlock. I thought I had your promise.” 

“You did, you do. But how could I tell you that the mission, my only option, was probably going to get me killed.”

“I could have gone with you. Or hell, we could have escaped, ran away someplace.” John was livid.

“Where to? They would find us?”

“Maybe we could have gone to that fake death place. You know where you went for two bloody years, I hear it’s all the rage, Moriarty apparently has just got back from there, must see those holiday photos Jim, over coffee. And Irene fucking Idler has a villa there now I’m told, popular place with the locals. I wouldn’t mind seeing it myself.” John was pacing the room. Mycroft was silent, amazed at the display of rage. 

“John you are magnificent when you are angry.” Sherlock looked on in awe, the words leaving his mouth before he realized. John glared at him.

“Right. right.....” John took an authoritative stance. “This is it. Both of you.” He pointed at the Holmes brothers for emphasis. “This morning was the last time I ever, EVER, say goodbye to you.” Finger pointed at Sherlock now, “never again Sherlock. And you..” Finger now directed at Mycroft; “you never send him to his death without sending me also.”

“John, I wasn’t...” Mycroft began, but John’s furious expression cut him off.

“This is the last time I will tell both of you. Do you understand me?” John demanded. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes” Both Holmes said at the same time.

“Right.” Captain John Watson took a seat in his chair again and straightened his jacket. “You were going to tell us about Moriarty.” He looked at Mycroft. “You may now do so.”

 

********

 

 


End file.
